Shredding Echoes
by echoshredder
Summary: I hate not only the fact that people call me Frey, but also the way they say it. Like I'm some little arctic cod that's too small to eat, the kind people sigh in disappointment at and toss back into the sea. My life was pretty much one big ride on one little boat…until my eighteenth birthday, the day we docked back at my birthplace. The day my adventure really began.
1. The Arrival

My name is Frey.

It's Freya, actually, but everyone calls me Frey. They seem to think it suits me.

Of course they do.

Freya Aurora Barbaric Brede-Lodewuk.

That's me, the third of five daughters belonging to Njord and Pheba. A Frey among Gratia, Jana, Kelda, and Eva, traditional Viking women. They cook, they clean, and they gracefully hack apart dummies with double-bladed axes. Good qualities in wives apparently.

The only one of those qualities I have is cleaning. I'm nothing like the rest, probably because I'm intelligent. I read, I write, I draw, I chart stars, and I hack apart dummies with smaller, easier to wield blades, like daggers.

I look nothing like them, either. My sisters are strong and blonde and blue-eyed. I'm scrawny, with brownish-reddish hair and green eyes.

Frey, indeed.

The only thing I do have in common with my sisters (besides stupid cleaning) is that we were all born in different port towns. Our father's a fur trader, and we live on his boat, the Asgardian. We never have a solid home, and probably never will.

I was born in a port town called Berk. It's pretty far north, and freezing cold; it snows nine out of the twelve months of the year, and hails the other three. It's located solidly on the Meridian of Misery.

We were lucky to be there on one of the few days a year where it was foggy during the day, but clear skies at night. The arctic air was clear and cold, the stars winking at us from their lofty perches in the cosmos. According to mom, the Aurora Borealis showed on the night of my birth, and instead of naming me Aurora, she decided to name me Freya, after the goddess of the night. The aurora was supposed to be a blessing from her.

Some blessing that turned out to be. But at least my mom calls me by my name, Freya, and not my nickname. I hate not only the fact that people call me Frey, but also the way they say it. Like I'm some little arctic cod that's too small to eat, the kind people sigh in disappointment at and toss back into the sea.

My life was pretty much one big ride on one little boat…until my eighteenth birthday, the day we docked back at Berk.

The day my story really began.

* * *

It started out like any other docking day: I fell out of my bunk from the impact of the ship hitting the wall of the harbor, and my sisters laughed at me, telling me to stop being such a klutz.

Please note that I did not get a single "Happy Birthday."

As usual, I was the last one off the boat, courtesy of my oldest sister, Kelda. There's only a difference of four years, and yet she treats me like some ten-year-old she's dying to beat up.

Which, on occasion, she has. But I always manage to win because she knows as much about battle strategy as I know about cooking. And by that, I mean nothing whatsoever.

It was only twenty degrees, but the cold didn't really bother me. I've never been one to be easily chilled, unlike my sisters. Whenever we go somewhere as cold as Berk, they always bundle up in so much fur, they look more like the bears the fur actually came from than humans.

Haha, sissies.

"Out of the way, Frey." Eva grunted, shoving me into the port-side railing. "Vikings first, remember?"

My ribs made contact with the thick, unyielding wood, and as I pushed myself to my feet, at least three splinters embedded themselves into my fingers.

"What determines whether I'm a Viking or not?" I put my hands on my hips, trying to look threatening. Or, at least, as threatening as a five-foot-seven stick figure can look. That saddest part is that they all have at least three inches on me.

Apparently, my fierce expression didn't have the correct effect on my sisters; actually, it had the opposite. Eva and Gratia laughed as they tossed their blonde braids over their fur-coated shoulders. "First of all, to be a Viking, you have to actually be able to pick up an axe." Jana and Kelda joined in, smirking in amusement.

"She's right, Frey," My father appeared out of no-where, cheeks pink with humor beneath his dirty blonde beard. "Vikings are strong, and I'm sorry, but you're the weakest one aboard this ship."

I rolled my eyes at my father. "Thank you for pointing that out, Dad," I replied sarcastically. "It means a lot."

"Oh, Frey, you know they're only joking." My father boomed, and clapped me on the back, forcing me to stumble forward. Thankfully, I didn't fall, but I could still feel a slight stinging pain where his sausage-like hand was.

My sisters smirked at me when our father wasn't looking.

"Let's go, Papa." Kelda said gloatingly. "You have more important things to do."

"Right you are, Kelda." My father nodded, stroking his bushy beard thoughtfully.

"You're just wasting your time." Jana agreed.

As they filed off the ship onto the docks, my sisters squinting at the cliffs with distaste, all I could think was how much I was wasting my time on them. It was literally impossible to strike up an even vaguely intellectual conversation on that ship. I tried once, and Gratia ended up taking an axe to the hull.

My mother materialized at my side whilst I stood sulkily on the deck. "I'm sorry about your sisters, Freya." She gazed up at the cliffs with a look I translated to caution, almost fear. "They just don't understand what it's like to think for themselves."

As harsh as that was for my mom to say, she was right. My sisters weren't dumb blondes, but they didn't exactly disprove the unfortunate stereotype. Again, axe to the hull.

"I've tried to reason with dad, but he just doesn't get that they aren't joking." I shook my head as I watched my father and my siblings wade their way through the crowd of people, disappearing into the thick fog which had settled over Berk.

My mother sighed. "Since it is your birthday, I can try to reason with him." As she said this, my heart leapt with hope. "You are eighteen, and I think it's time you start receiving the respect you deserve."

All I could think of was a life where I wasn't teased about being the shortest or scrawniest or smartest. My sisters would leave me be, and if they were genuinely curious, have me teach them about the stars or reading or drawing or some other skill they lack that I seem to have perfected. I was a wealth of valuable knowledge to people on that ship, and I felt that it was time they realized it.

"Thank you." I tried my best to contain my excitement. Respect! Me! Me, being respected! That would be more valuable to me than all the books in the world…okay, maybe just all the star charts in the world. Books are priceless, irreplaceable.

"You're welcome." My mother replied, and then placed something in my hands. "The last time we were in Kåln, I saw this. It reminded me of how much you preferred daggers to your sisters' preference of axes."

I unwrapped the cloth and found a long dagger in a leather sheath. Tiny carvings danced around the edge of the silver double-edged blade, which had been balanced with extreme precision.

"It's called 'bita-viðrtaka', or 'biting defence'." She explained. "The man who sold it to me said it was made from fróðdleikr silfr."

I nodded and sheathed the blade. If my mom thought it was really made of seraphic silver, then maybe I really was the only one on the ship that wasn't gullible. But it was a nice gift, all the same.

"And since your sisters all have their own axes, I thought you might like a weapon of your own." She finished, sounding satisfied...and nervous.

"I love it. Thanks, mom." I replied, and strapped the sheath to my belt. I may not be a Viking according to my sisters, but I at the very least feel like one.

"You're very welcome, Freya." She smiled proudly. "Happy Birthday."

"Thanks, mom." I replied, and left the boat for town.


	2. The Flight

It was really foggy out. I couldn't even see the sky or anywhere outside the main square; everywhere beyond the cluster of shops and houses was a misty grey.

But I liked it. When we had been sailing last night, I had predicted the weather patterns to be almost exactly the same as they had on the night if my birth. And, by the looks of it, I was right.

As I wove through the crowd of vikings, I heard people whispering nervously. Eyes kept darting to the skies, and I immediately picked up on the people's wariness: whatever was up there was the cause of their concern.

And I wanted to find out what it was.

People began to stare above my head, and I looked up to see one of the strangest things I'd ever seen; a long, thin black tail, covered in reptilian black scales, dangled through the cloud layer.

Wherever I walked, it followed.

I suddenly got the most impulsive, bizarre idea ever.

I was going to grab into that thing.

Looking back, I have clue idea why I did it, not the faintest trace of reason to be found, but if anything, destiny drove me into taking a leap of faith.

I jumped, hands and arms stretched skyward, and I grabbed onto the long black scaly thing.

My feet left the ground in a sudden movement, and I was whipped into the clouds. Beads of mist clung to my skin, and I could barely see because the wind tore at my face and every seam in my clothing.

We surfaced the fog layer and flew in the bitter winter sunlight. It stung my already watering eyes. Thankfully the wind died down, and it made hanging on much easier.

It was the scariest, most fascinating thing I'd ever done.

I needed to get the rider's attention. He hadn't seemed to notice I was even there; he just flew along, content.

"Oi! Snot-face!" The rider, turned to look behind him. His face was covered by a helmet, and his green eyes that almost mirrored mine looked startled and confused to see me–the mysterious tag-along—flapping along on the tail end.

"What the heck are you doing?" He asked, staring at me like I dropped out of Asgard.

"Oh, you know, just hanging on for dear life." I said nonchalantly, as though I wasn't dangling thousands of feet off the ground. "Could you pull me up? I can feel my shoulders slowly sliding out of their sockets."

He crawled across the back, sprawled on his stomach, wrapping his legs around the flying thing's middle, and offered me both his hands. I willingly grabbed on, and he pulled me up to the stump of the tail.

"Are you crying?" He asked, voice filled partially with concern, but mostly amusement.

"No, my eyes just sting from the wind." I said stiffly, refusing to be teased by some random guy on a far-fetched flying contraption.

"Sure they do," he said sarcastically, and I glared at him.

He shut up, and I heard a loud snort from the head.

"We're coming," the boy reassured, and he beckoned me to follow him back to his seat.

I followed. He made sure to strap me in behind him to make sure that I didn't fall off, which was considerate, but who wants to be strapped to a stranger? Can I get a show of hands?

I thought so.

"We're going to get you down from here." His voice sounded muffled through his helmet. "You might want to hold on."

With out responding, I locked my fingers into his armor's shoulder . No way was I about to hold onto his middle, that would just be uncomfortable.

Almost immediately, we dipped to a near-vertical angle and plummeted towards the earth. I had to hide behind the rider so the wind and speed didn't blind me. Freezing air seeped into every seam in my clothing. I shivered uncontrollably.

"What're we even flying on?" I called over the wind.

"You don't know?" He replied, sounding amused, bemused and incredulous. He shook his head as if to say "Vikings these days..."

With a sudden jolt, we leveled off and glided above the treetops for a minute, then landed silently in a mossy clearing.

I slid off and landed firmly on the ground, mind boggled with adrenalin. I heard a thump behind me, and turned to see that the boy had also slid off and was working with the laces on the back of his helmet.

And behind him stood the thing we had been riding on: a sleek black vaguely mammalian dragon, it's cat-like green eyes wide with curiosity.

My eyes widened in amazement. "We were r-riding a d-d...dragon?"

Halfway through in unstrapping his helmet, the rider looked behind him at the dragon, back to me, and said, voice less muffled, "Yeah." He said it like it should have been obvious. "His name's Toothless."

"I..I didn't even know they existed." I sputtered, feeling dumbfounded. "I studied just about everything, I've been everywhere, but I've never come across a dragon."

He pulled off his helmet to reveal tousled brown hair tinted with auburn, and features I found freakishly familiar. He looked like me, but a couple years older and in guy form. "They're, um, exclusive to Berk." He said, gesturing around him. "Other places have horses, or dogs, or cats; we have dragons."

"Did you always have dragons?" I asked, still feeling stunned.

He contemplates the question, then shrugs. "Yeah, I think so. We didn't make peace with them until a few years ago."

I stand there for a second. "Do they show up during the Aurora Borealis?" I asked curiously. I wondered if anyone in my family knows about them. For all I knew, they could have showed up the night of my birth.

He scratched the back of his head. "I don't know. We haven't seen it for a while. I'll tell you when it does show up. Are you new to the village?" He looked almost hopeful.

I shook my head. "My father's a fur trader. We live on his ship, and since the Aurora Borealis shouldn't be around for a couple months still, I'll be long gone by the time it shows up again. We only stay at each port for one day." I explained.

"Oh," he said, and snapped a twig with his remaining foot. The other was a kind of 'peg leg' except it bounced up and down on a spring, giving the wearer the illusion of walking normally. I decided not to ask. "That would suck."

"It does, I promise you." I said. "But it's a life I'm stuck with, so there's nothing I can do." I shrugged.

He furrowed his brows. I said nothing.

"Um, is there a way to get back to Berk from here?" I asked, breaking the silence awkwardly.

"Yeah, you follow that path all the way down." He pointed to the path behind me.

"Thanks." I said and started down the path.

"What's your name?" He called out after a few paces.

"Freya Aurora Barbaric Brede-Lodwuk," I replied. "But most people call me Frey."

My tone must have been pretty dark, because he smirked. "I'm guessing you don't like that."

"No, I don't." I said, and he smirked again.

"If it makes you feel better, my name is Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third." He raises an eyebrow, as if to say, top THAT.

"That does stink." I said incredulously.

"Yeah, it does." He smiled, and I turned and jogged down the path.

* * *

I had already made up my mind by the time I reached town. I didn't even know where I would go after phase one had been completed, but my mind was set. It was waiting for the right time to execute my plan that was the hard part.

Late into the night, I crept up out of bed and collected all my things: clothes, trinkets, books, tools, weapons. I threw them into my rough canvas pack and slipped up to the deck.

My sisters were snoring, so they didn't hear me. But I bet that if they had known, they wouldn't have been TOO disappointed.

I had one leg over the railing when someone cleared their throat behind me.

It was my mother. I sheepishly turned around and faced her.

"You don't think I'd let you leave before I said good-bye, do you?" She crossed her arms and stood tenaciously.

"How'd you know I was going to run away?" I asked carefully.

"Well, for starters, I knew you weren't happy." She strolled over and sat next to me on the railing, looking up and inspecting the stars. "You're much more curious than your siblings, and I knew it was only a matter of time before we came back to Berk and you wanted to leave."

"But how did you know I would want to live in Berk?" I felt confusedz

"Because there's dragons here, and you like adventure. There's no better place for you than Berk." She smiled, and rummaged through her pockets until she handed me a note on rough parchment. "Go to the chief's house and ask for Valka. Give her this."

"What does it say?" I asked as I tucked it away in my pocket. "Why didn't you tell me about the dragons?"

"It's nothing you need to worry about." She said, and kissed me on the forehead. "Now, go."

"You're okay with me leaving?" I protested, secretly wanting her to refuse to let me go. She IS my mother. She shouldn't let me go this easily.

"Yes." She smiled sadly. "I want you to live an adventure, for all the faint-hearted that live on this boat. There's life outside these cabins and paddles and sails and moldy heaps of rope. Go find it."

I smiled. "I love you, mom."

She smiled. "I love you, too, Freya."

I slid my other leg over the railing and dropped down onto the wooden pier silently. I ran all the way up to the top of the path, looking down at our boat to see my mother still standing there, watching me.

I waved. She waved.

And I walked to the village, my heart feeling light and heavy at the same time.

* * *

The chief's house was pretty easy to find. It was the biggest and one of the nicer ones in the village.

I knocked loudly, despite the time of night. After all, my main reason was to wake them up, not lull them to sleep.

I heard clamoring on the other side, like someone decided they wanted to try juggling pots and pans. My hands instinctively shot to my ears. There was a loud slam against one of the walls, and I jumped, letting out a surprised yelp.

What the heck...?

"I got it, I got it," a boy's muffled voice said from the other side. A few seconds later, the door swung open.

"Freya?"

"Hiccup?"


End file.
